Dumbledore's Grendel
by dojomojo
Summary: Grindelwald needs to be stopped. Genfic, so no pairings. World War 2 era


(**A/N: **This is my first story, so feel free to let loose on me, I can take it. Story errors, screw ups, whatever, hit me with it. This was not initially written for public use, but I decided to go ahead and let it into this cruel world. I pretty much ignored the Fantastic Beasts series changes and just had some fun like I knew nothing. This is also kind of a crossover, but I don't think anybody that is involved deeply with _Beowulf_ really cares much about what I've done here.)

I don't own anything. Literally nothing, take my ideas and characters, I don't care.

**Dumbledore's Grendel**

_CREEEEEEAAAAAAKKK!_

The front door to the Leaky Cauldron protested its use as it always did, and Tom, the barkeep and owner, looked warily upon the man who stood in the doorway. The man wore dark pants with a matching suit jacket, a red tie, and a black Homburg upon his head. To the average Londoner, he would appear to be nothing more than a businessman, perhaps improperly attired for a trip to the pub, but nothing special; it was not so to Tom. This man's attire was foreign to Tom, as all muggle dress and customs were to the laymen of wizarding Britain.

The man closed the door with a _thud_ and walked up to the bar, bypassing empty chairs and tables. He was close enough now that Tom could make out the man's bearded face. The short straw-colored beard framed a hard face with a blunted nose and tight lips. There was a rough linear dent in his right cheek, just below his cobalt eyes. The man spoke, "I'll have a butterbeer."

Tom moved quickly to fulfill the man's order. The man took this time to observe the taproom. There was an old man in a corner booth, nursing a glass of something dark, gazing out the window to a land father away than the eye could see. The only other occupant of the establishment, sat next to a great roaring hearth in the back of the room, was a stout man with a bowler hat, a dark handlebar mustache, and a determined gaze that was locked on the Cauldron's latest customer. The man at the bar turned to Tom, took his butterbeer, and approached the man by the fire.

"This seat taken?" the bearded man asked.

Gruffly, the seated man replied, "Not yet."

The bearded man sat across from the man, his back to the fire. After taking a sip of his butterbeer, the newcomer introduced himself. "I'm Hugo Delacour from the Bureau des Aurors. I assume that you are here for the same reason as I?"

The stout man replied, "That would depend on what your business here is, Hugo Delacour, if that _is_ your name."

"I beg your pardon?" Hugo replied, slightly taken aback.

"You've the name of a Frenchman, but you speak English as well as any native speaker." The man's words seemed calm, but they were laced with an edge that was only emphasized by the hand in his pocket.

Hugo slowly put his hands on the table and responded, "Much is possible with magic. I speak as I do with a mere translation charm."

The stout man grunted. "Yes, but so too might any other, less savory sort. Have you any proof of your claim of being an auror?" The man seemed increasingly on edge, with his eyes narrowing, and his wand now openly displayed, ready to move as necessary.

Hugo reached slowly into his jacket and retrieved a piece of folded leather. He extended this across the table before the man snatched it away with a speed that belied his girth. The man examined the leather, both with his eyes and with his wand, before opening it to confirm that there was indeed the insignia of Bureau des Aurors. Satisfied, the man returned the leather to Hugo and replaced his wand in his pocket, though his hand never left it. "It seems you are what you say you are. Now, what business do you have in London?"

Hugo received his identification back gladly, wary of the man he shared a table with. "I am here for the meeting with your Ministry's forces on how we plan to deal with Grindelwald, though why we are meeting in this tavern is beyond me, Mister …?"

"Moody. Walter Moody."

"Moody, then. Do you have any insight into why we are here, or are you simply here for some other reason?"

The now-named Walter Moody sat with a neutral expression, seemingly contemplating the question. Hugo was beginning to believe that the man was simply outside of his mind, when Moody spoke, "I am here to secure the room before the bulk of our forces arrive for the meeting. What _exactly_ were you told about this meeting?"

"I was told to go to the Leaky Cauldron in London, to arrive at nine in the evening on Friday September first, and that you Englishmen were ready to talk about dealing with the greatest threat to the wizarding world."

Moody nodded and said, "Whoever you got your information was right: there will be a meeting to deal with Grindelwald here tonight, but you got something wrong. It is not the Ministry that you will be meeting with tonight."

Hugo was confused. "If it is not the Ministry who called this meeting then who-?"

Hugo was cut off by the roar of unnatural fire, and he turned to see the hearth's warm orange turn a sickly green before a dozen men walked out of the fire led by a man with a well-kept auburn beard and a confidence and power to his stride that Churchill himself would be hard pressed to match. His crooked nose only further emphasized the man's intimidating presence. This man walked over to the bar while the rest of his company spread out in the pub, taking tables in pairs, but never taking their eyes far off the auburn-haired man. They all seemed to wear the same expression of determination and resignation.

Tom happily greeted the man, "Professor Dumbledore! How good to see you, what can I do for you and your friends tonight?"

"Hello, Tom," Dumbledore said with a small, sad smile. "I am afraid I have to ask you to clear out for a while. I will make sure the bar is as you left it when you return."

Tom began to protest, but as he looked around his pub and the men who had assembled therein, the words died in his throat. The Leaky Cauldron was the only reputable wizarding pub in London, and as such, it was often a rather rowdy crowd that visited on a Friday night. The first day of September often brought a much larger crowd than usual, as all the students of Hogwarts had been sent off that morning and parents who found themselves once again alone had a tendency to celebrate with a butterbeer among friends. There was always much drinking and feasting to be had, many a conversation between mates about the latest in quidditch and who was sleeping with who and how everyone's week had been. The fact that it also served as an inn had led to more than a few half-forgotten nights and all too well-remembered mornings. That was how it should be, but as he looked upon the faces of the hard men in the room, Tom realized that what should be and what now was were as different from each other as the sunny day was from a storm. Times as dark as this year of 1944 had a tendency to drain the liveliness out of a place.

"Alright, Professor," Tom conceded, "I'll just kip down to Gringotts, then. I ought to put away today's profits anyway. Close up on your way out, would you? I doubt I'll be getting much more business tonight."

"Of course, Tom."

With that, Tom headed out the backdoor into Diagon Alley, leaving the men to their business. Dumbledore turned around, assessing the room. When his eyes fell upon Hugo, his eyes narrowed. With a soft yet commanding voice, he asked, "Walter, who is this man?"

"He says he's Hugo Delacour, with the French version of our Auror Corps," Walter responded blithely.

Dumbledore nodded in understanding before coming to sit next to Hugo. "Hello, Hugo, I am Albus Dumbledore, but you can call me Albus. What brings the Bureau here tonight?"

Hugo cleared his throat and took a moment to compose himself. While the face had been foreign to him, he knew the name _Albus Dumbledore._ It was not quickly that France forgot the man who had convinced the Flamels to come back into the public eye. The Flamels had been legends before the Statute of Secrecy went into effect, and they would continue to be long after. That was what happened to those who developed a way to live for over 600 years. They had retreated to seclusion sometime after the discovery of the New World, and it was only Dumbledore's promise of a great research question that brought them out. Discovering a use for dragon's blood was quite an achievement, finding eleven more had been more so. The only problem was this man that sat before Hugo took all the credit for the English, leaving the great French family as a mere footnote. It was galling to his pride as a Frenchman.

That was all unimportant compared to the task that now lay before them, and so Hugo would work with this man until that goal was reached. Having gathered himself and calmed his pride Hugo spoke evenly, "I was told there was a meeting on dealing with Grindelwald here tonight."

Dumbledore nodded. "You were told correctly, but that matter will be settled when the rest of our number arrive. For now, why don't you enlighten us as to the situation in France? As I understand it, the Nazi's have been forced out of Paris merely a week ago."

As Hugo explained the state of his nation, more men and the occasional woman began to enter the building through the Floo Network. All of them hard faced, ready for whatever was to come of this meeting. After half an hour or so, the flow of people into the room stopped and Albus brought his hand up, first to stop Hugo's report on his nation, and then to stop the general noise of the room. Albus stood, and all eyes were upon him.

"It would seem that we everyone that has been invited has arrived, let us bring this meeting to order. We have all been called here to develop a plan to neutralize Grindelwald and the threat he poses to our people. Since the liberation of Paris last week, reports have been coming of his movements, where he has been attacking, and the damages he left. His policy of magical power first over the currently popular idea of pureblood first has seen him culling the less powerful pureblood families. We believed that, with the muggle's Second World War in swing, his ability to target families in the mainland would be limited, and as such, we had, before this week, estimated the fallout of his actions to be a dozen British aurors lost in direct conflict with him and eight pureblood families reduced to a single heir, totaling in 62 fatalities in the past 4 years. This was based on both confirmed dead and a few filed missing persons reports, as Grindelwald does not limit himself to the Killing Curse, and as such, does not always leave bodies for us to identify."

"With the liberation of Paris, we now know that the war did anything but limit Grindelwald. Grindelwald seems to be backed by the German Nazis and has been given free reign of all conflicted territory in the past few years. According to the Ministry in Paris, there have been over 1,000 civilian casualties in France alone, with over 50 aurors joining the tally. If we assume these numbers are similar across all of the territory occupied the Nazis and their allies, we are looking at over 10,000 dead." Here, Albus stopped to let the full impact of the information to be understood.

10,000 dead wizards and witches. Hugo was aware of this number, but many others in the room were not, and the effects were devastating. More than one wizard looked as if he had become a vampire. While the muggles bred like rabbits throughout their lives, wizards often had few children and usually late in life; most of their population was well over the age of 60. 10,000 muggles was no small number, but the muggles could recover quiet easily; the last magical census before the war had put Europe's wizarding population at less 100,000. The death of so many marked the single greatest tragedy of wizarding history.

Seeing that everyone understood, Dumbledore gave a grim nod. "Now that I have properly emphasized the importance of the task before us, I shall cede the floor to Henry Potter, the one who called for this meeting."

The old man Hugo had noted when he first came in stood from the corner booth where he had been forgotten and ignored by all present. Gone was the distant gaze of a mournful old man, replaced by a fiery gaze ready to burn anything in its path. Walking with surprising ease for one so aged, Henry took the floor from Albus. "Thank you for introduction, Albus." Henry turned towards the rest of the room. "Now, you all know what's been done to our community. Now, you know what needs to be done _for _our community. Gellert Grindelwald must be dealt with. Alive or dead, it doesn't matter so long as he can't hurt anyone anymore." Henry looked around the room, meeting everyone's eyes, looking for dissent, for traitors. He tensed when his eyes met Hugo's, and his gaze stayed a moment longer than normal, taking in Hugo's uninformed attire and foreign face before flicking to Albus. After getting a reassuring nod from Albus, Henry continued. "The only question left is how we go about taking him down. The Auror Corps here in Britain has already lost two full squads to this madman, both to traps and to even combat. We cannot go to him where he lives, and we cannot fight him in the open: best case scenarios in these occasions have Grindelwald escaping, while worst case… well, you can imagine."

"Our best bet is to ambush him, attack when he's not expecting it and get him on the back foot. Lucky for us, we now have enough information to predict his movements, where he will move next. The muggle armies of Britain and here allies have begun to close the gap between the northern and southern fronts. Within the next two days, the Nazis occupying southwestern France will be cut off from their supply chains to Berlin. The last evidence of Grindelwald's movements puts him in Bordeaux, far southwest of the converging front lines. If he wants to continue his attacks without attracting muggle attention, he will need to make it to at least Dijon within the next week. We've let word slip that the Malfoy family, being ignorant of the affairs of muggles as many are, will be having a reunion at their family home in Minot, some 50 kilometers north of Dijon, in six days. Our hope is that Grindelwald will hear this information and take the bait and attack the Malfoy home, only to find us there waiting for him. All that's left is the travel details…"

The logistics of getting some 40 people out of Britain in the middle of a war turned out to be quite involved, and the company would all be departing in pairs at intervals over the next three days, giving everyone time to make the trek to Minot. They would be keeping magic use along the way to a minimum so as not to alert anyone to the large group of wizards moving across an active warzone. Hugo was paired with Albus, as it seemed that while a foreign face was accepted, it was only in the presence of someone as familiar as Hugo was foreign. On the evening of the sixth, everyone had arrived safely in Minot, and the reality of what was to happen tomorrow weighed heavily on everyone's mind. In an attempt to ease their collective minds, someone decided to raid the Malfoy's wine cellar. As the alcohol flowed, everyone eased up a little; Moody even took his hand out of his pocket and seemed to be chatting up one of the few female aurors that were in the company, a younger blonde woman by the name of Alice.

Hugo had somehow ended up sharing a table with Albus and Henry. Hugo felt even more out of place among these two men than he did among the rest of the company. At least in everyone else's company, he was foreigner, but a foreigner of equal measure. In the presence of Henry Potter and Albus Dumbledore, he felt out-classed and small, like a child at a dinner party. Albus was in his 60s, a wizard late in his prime, and had amassed an international reputation as a scholar, while Henry Potter was either nearing the end of his first century, or more likely starting his second. Hugo, only in his late 30s, held no acclaim to his name beyond surviving in France as a pureblood during Grindelwald's reign of terror. Albus and Henry knew each other well enough to be comfortable in silence, but Hugo felt far more awkward and eventually could not stand the silence.

"How do you two know each other?" Hugo blurted.

Albus and Henry both seemed unsurprised by this outburst, seemingly predicted that the younger man would not be able to contain himself. They looked at each other as if to ask who should tell the tale, when Henry smiled and Albus took up an expression of playful discontent. Henry turned towards Hugo and began, "We were neighbors when this one here was small. I could tell some very impressive stories of what he got up to as a child."

"Oh, please don't," Albus groaned like a petulant child, grinning all the while.

"Oh no, we may die tomorrow, I'm not holding back on your behalf. This little bugger once got it in his head that he'd like to learn magic early and stole his father's wand! Of course, he had no idea what to do with it other than to swing it around, so of course half the neighborhood ended up changing colors like a sunset and more than a few muggles saw him while he was at it. Oh, the Obliviators had a quite a day, as did the Department of Magical Accidents. I laughed myself blue that day."

Hugo got a sly look in his eye, and asked, "You knew him while he was young, huh? Well, how about this: how'd he get such a crooked nose?"

At that, both older wizards got quiet, and Hugo realized he'd hit on a subject better left alone. Henry looked at Albus, a question in his eyes. Albus just shook his head, looked at Hugo and said, "Just a squabble with my brother Aberforth in our youth."

Hugo realized that there was clearly more to the story but decided to let it go. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."

Dumbledore smiled at his sincerity, and replied, "It's alright, so long as I can ask how exactly you came to have that rather nasty dent in your face."

Hugo smiled and responded, "It's quite simply really. When the muggle war started up, I wasn't really aware of what muggle were capable of nor how their politics worked. When someone told me that the muggle Nazis were approaching the city, I thought nothing of it. I figured that one muggle government was the same as any other. As a result, when man in a rather round hat with a strap and matching clothes asked me for some identification some three days into the occupation, I ignored him, not knowing what he was. I kept walking until he knocked my leg out from under me and put a knife rather solidly against my face. I, of course, drew my wand and blasted him off of me before obliviating him. It wasn't until I got home and the excitement had worn off that I had realized he had taken this chunk out of my face when I blasted him."

Albus and Henry looked quite impressed with Hugo's story, and he decided to ask another question himself. "Now you, Albus, are famous for finding the 12 uses for dragons' blood." At this, Albus nodded, proud of his achievement. "One thing that irks me, however, is that your French Master, Nicolas Flamel, does not get hardly any credit for helping you develop these uses. As a Frenchman, it is a blow to my national pride that he does not receive more credit, so I ask you: why?"

Albus looked rather uncomfortable, fidgeting slightly in his chair. He responded, "I was a younger man, then, and I sought glory more than I ought to have. Believe me, Nicolas rather thoroughly disabused me of this habit, and if I had any way to redistribute credit now, I would, but it is done."

Hugo nodded, his pride and curiosity satisfied for the moment. The rest of the conversation for the evening was rather meaningless in comparison to the previous topics, having much to do with nothing. Eventually, everyone headed off to sleep, wine speeding their passage to Morpheus' realm. The morning of the seventh came and brought with it all the tension that everyone had worked to ease the night before. Preparations were made, defensive walls transfigured inside every entrance. The majority of fortifications were put up around the main entrance, where there would be the most open space between the door and the fortifications. It was here that the company hoped to end Grindelwald's threat to wizarding society. They knew not when or even if Grindelwald would attack here, today, but it was the best plan they had. By noon, every witch and wizard was ready for Grindelwald to come through the doors. As the day drew on, however, their watchfulness waned.

The sun had begun to drift below the horizon when he came. The only warning they had was the feel of building magic seconds before, with a might _CRAAACKKKABOOM,_ Grindelwald blew the entire front wall of the house in, the front line of defense along with it. Caught off-guard after so many hours of waning vigilance, those closest to the wall were killed instantly. The others were able to get enough of a shield up to stay in the fight, but many, Albus and Henry among them, were thrown to the ground. The battle had just begun, and already five were dead and a further four removed from the immediate fight. In the short, stunned silence that followed this display, Grindelwald began to let loose with wordless power and precision, sending cutting curses, blasting curses, blood boiling curses, Killing Curses and more into the startled would-be ambush. A further five fell before remaining members of the company began to return fire. Grindelwald seemed hardly phased, blocking and returning fire as easily as he breathed. After what seemed like an eternity, Albus rose from where the opening volley had thrown him to the ground and began to return fire as well. Grindelwald seemed to falter for a moment, and it was then that the tide began to turn. Albus proved to be far more than just a scholar and began to increase his spellfire until he was matching Grindelwald spell for spell. That should have been it, but Albus advanced on the monster, blocking the others' lanes of fire delaying the monster's demise. With their path to combat blocked, most of those who still stood began to try and save as many of the fallen as they could. It was only Hugo that still observed the fight.

It over so fast that Hugo almost missed it, but with a quick stunner-disarming charm-cutting curse combo, Albus ended the fight, taking Grindelwald's arm as well as his wand. Albus stood over the defeated monster of a man, seemingly speaking to him. Hugo slowly walked towards the two, only to hear them talking as he got closer.

"…always you, isn't it, Beowulf. Always you who stops me. It is you, isn't it? You know who I am, don't you?"

Grindelwald's voice was surprisingly soft for one so clearly mad as he was, calling Albus by the name Beowulf. It seemed to be having an effect on Albus however, as his shoulders drooped as Grindelwald spoke.

Albus responded sadly, "Yes, it's me, Grendel. You know it is. No one else can defeat you. No one else ever has."

Hugo was confused by this conversation but finished his approach to the pair. He reached Albus and asked, "What now?"

Albus was startled by the sound of Hugo's voice, and turned to him and responded, "Nothing; he is defeated. He'll bleed out from this wound before long now. There is not much left to do." Hugo nodded his assent and understanding. He looked down upon the form of Grindelwald.

He was missing is right arm from the shoulder down, and his blood was soaking the grass, liter after liter leaving his body, killing him. His short hair was the color of gold, his face handsome. His blue eyes gazed upon Hugo now, watching him, seeing how disgusted Hugo was by the man. He smiled, seemingly immune to the pain of the lost arm, before turning his head towards Albus and breathed, "Is this another of your number, Beowulf? Did I miss one this time?"

Albus shook his head, saddened by something. "No, Grendel. I do believe you got them all this time, as you have most every time before. I believe this one is a new soul, unbound from our fight except by courage and compassion for his fellows."

Hugo was well and truly confused now, but as Grindelwald drifted off with that odd smile on his face, he held his questions. Hugo and Albus returned to the remains of the Malfoy house to help those who remained. Few remained, five men whose names Hugo had not learned as well as Moody and Alice. Upon seeing the body of Henry, Hugo felt not but sorrow at the loss of an old man doing a young man's job. After gathering the dead, the company returned to England, to the Leaky Cauldron to celebrate and mourn in company. The survivors toasted the dead for their deeds, then toasted their victory over the monster that was Grindelwald.

As the night drew on and spirits waned, the company began to go their separate ways, until only Albus and Hugo were left. It was then that Hugo sought to end his confusion.

"Albus," Hugo began quietly, "what were you and he talking about at the end? Why was he calling you Beowulf, and why did you say that my soul was new?"

Albus did not respond for a moment, merely staring into his bottle contemplatively. When he did speak his voice was rough, as though he would cry at any moment. "He called me Beowulf because that was my name, some dozen lifetimes ago. I called him Grendel because that was his. We have been reincarnating for centuries, always together, always to one day fight. I always win, he always bleeds to death from that arm. He is always an outcast, driven to rage against society. This time around, though he was a beautiful man, his heart was black, and no one would take him, and so he turned his anger on the general populace, as is his wont. Never before has he been able to wreak such destruction before I put him down, but he was far more mobile in this life, making him harder to pin down. I called you a new soul because the men who accompanied me in my first life to fight Grendel accompany me every time, and he manages to kill them all, more often than not. You are new to this conflict, and hopefully not bound to it so as I am."

By the end, tears flowed freely down Albus' face. Man was not meant to struggle for so long against the world, and it had clearly taken its toll on him. Hugo merely sat back, stupefied by this information. He now had more questions, and just a bit of anger to back them up. "You two are tied together? Is that how he knew were there!? It's your fault Henry and the others are dead!"

Albus was unphased by the accusations. His tears had stopped, and he sadly turned to Hugo. "No. If he had known I was there, he would have done a great deal more than blow in a wall. That was just how he was, always breaking some wood before a fight. In our time, it was the hall door; this time it just happened to be the wall." Albus chuckled, just this side of hysterical. "I don't know why, but he seems to have a desire to break wood before bone. It's just one of those things I don't understand." He shook his head and went quiet.

Hugo had deflated upon Albus' explanation, all anger and bluster gone, leaving only sorrow once more. After a few quiet minutes, Hugo stood up and made for the door. Behind him, he heard Albus ask, "What will you do now? What will you do with my tale?"

Hugo looked at Albus and shook his head. "I will do nothing with your tale. I will go home, find myself a nice girl and have kids. I think that my auror career should end here. I don't think I can stand much more of this kind of work."

Albus nodded and watched Hugo go in silence. When Hugo grew old, he would look back on those two weeks in September of 1944 wonder if it was all a dream; it was too fantastic, even by wizarding standards. All it would take to correct him of his wondering was to look into the eyes of Albus Dumbledore, whether in the paper or on the back of a Chocolate Frog Card. One look into those eyes, and Hugo knew that it was all real, as no mortal man had as so weary a gaze.


End file.
